


Outlaw's Blood

by MrsJohnReese



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:07:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27356992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsJohnReese/pseuds/MrsJohnReese
Summary: After the death of her mother, Riley moves back to her father's house, fully expecting to clash with his need to do things by the book after years of having free reign to do as she wished. What she finds, however, is a clash of a different sort, with a man that good sense tells her she should keep at arm's length-a task that becomes far more difficult with each passing day.
Relationships: Jax Teller/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 9





	1. Leave It All Behind

"You know, staring at it isn't going to make it pack itself."

"Says the man who is actively sending me into exile," Riley accused, narrowing green eyes at her would-be companion, and pushing past the man so that she could gain better access to her closet which was now at least half-empty, "I still don't see why I can't just stay with you."

"Because, Riles. It's not safe, and you know it," Archer Donovan replied, following his god-daughter's movements with a concerned expression firmly rooted upon his features, "Whatever your step-father is involved in, you don't need to get involved."

"But I could help—"

"No. No, you couldn't. You're still just a kid, Riley, and you'd be in over your head before you could shout for help."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but a person stops being a 'kid' when they hit eighteen."

"It was a figure of speech, and you know it."

"Maybe next time you need to come up with a better one."

"Riley—"

"Don't 'Riley' me, Arch, you know where I'm coming from, here," The young woman pressed, snatching another top from its place on a hanger inside her closet, and frowning as the softness of the material provoked yet another surge of bitterness over being forced to move to a place that she considered to be the damned ends of the earth, "I thought we talked about this. That you thought I needed to start trying for some independence."

"Yeah, and there's a damned lot of difference between getting out on your own in the world, and trying to be a vigilante!"

Pursing her lips in an effort to avoid lashing out at the man that had been like a father to her ever since she and her mother had moved to Orange County, and even after her mother's decision to remarry, Riley opted instead for moving around Archer's sturdy frame once again to get back to her suitcase, the act of tossing the shirt she held inside it possessing far more vehemence than it probably should have. In truth, she was well aware that the man was right. That she had no business looking into something she could not even begin to understand. But in spite of that knowledge, Riley was entirely unwilling to just let things proceed as they were, something of the stubbornness that was so much like her mother's all but refusing to allow her to go to Charming quietly when she knew she should be staying here to find the truth behind her death.

"Sweetheart, listen to me, okay?" Archer pleaded, his words rather effectively startling Riley out of her internal musings, and causing her to bring green eyes to meet his brown ones once again, "I know you're hurting like hell. And I know you're used to your life here, but you've got to trust me. Your dad can take care of you while we figure this out."

"I don't need to be taken care of, Arch, I need to find out what the hell happened to my mom."

"So you don't trust me to make you my first call when we do find that information?"

"Come on, that's not what I said—"

"It may as well be. In all my years of knowing you, kid, have I ever once led you wrong?"

"No. No, you haven't," Riley conceded, nudging the suitcase in front of her with the toe of her heeled boot, and plopping down on the edge of the bed it had been standing in front of so that she might place her head in her hands, and exhale in obvious defeat, "And I'm sorry for being such a bitch about it. I just—I know my mom would want this guy found. I feel it in my bones, Arch."

"So do I, sweetheart. So do I," Archer began, nudging aside one of the stray articles of clothing still littering the bed so that he could take a seat beside his god-daughter, and winding an arm around her slender shoulders so that he might pull her against his side, "But I also know she'd want you safe until he was found. Can you at least agree with me on that?"

Unable to do anything other than nod, at least for the moment, Riley did so, her head almost immediately finding solace against her godfather's shoulder. On some level, she knew that he was right. That her exposure to life, at least so far, was nowhere near sufficient to prepare her for what she wanted to do so fiercely that it hurt. Through her mother's incessant need to protect her, and her stepfather's desire to keep both her and her mother in the dark about most of his life outside of what they shared, she was hardly what anyone would call street-wise. But even with such a realization, she was still reluctant to simply tuck tail and run, no matter how prudent following that advice might be.

And she certainly was not prepared for a reunion with a man that she had been relieved to get away from after the divorce…

Shaking herself back into awareness as she recognized the tell-tale signs of her godfather shifting to get a better look at her features in the wake of her sudden lapse into silence, Riley forced herself to pull away from his sturdy frame and stand erect once again, her path taking her back towards the closet to grab more clothing so that she could present the façade of at least being semi-productive. Of course, if she were to pretend she couldn't feel the weight of Archer's eyes on her as she moved, she would have been a liar, particularly with how it felt like two holes were being burned on either side of her spine between her shoulder blades. But somehow, even in the face of such intense observation, she was not willing to give the man any indication that she was fully convinced regarding the wisdom of his plan, her shoulders squaring just a bit as she snatched a few more shirts off of their hangers, and turned back to face her godfather directly.

"You know if my dad is like he was when my mom left him, I'm going to lose my mind out there."

"Who knows, kid—a little insanity might just make your life more interesting."

Sending Archer a roll of the eyes as her only response to his assertion, Riley persisted in her attempts at packing for the trip it seemed she would not be able to avoid, her eyes casting around her room as she did so as though she were trying to memorize every extraneous detail. In truth, though she would deny it until her dying day, that was exactly what she was attempting to do, the knowledge that her father's house in Charming would be a far cry from what she had become accustomed to over the past twelve years giving her every reason to believe that she would need these memories of her former life to keep her sane…

No matter what Archer claimed, Riley had no doubt in her mind that moving back to her father's town would prove to be every bit as much of a challenge, if not even more so than what she would have experienced had she stayed behind.

…


	2. Homecoming

Adjusting her sunglasses so that they rested more comfortably on the bridge of her nose, Riley stepped out of the taxi cab and shut the door behind her, her gaze taking in the unfortunate reality of her new living situation while she waited for the driver to unlock the trunk and retrieve her luggage. For the briefest of moments, she was a six year old girl again, pig tails dangling down her back, and knees scuffed from too many tumbles on the sidewalk in front of her father's home. If she closed her eyes, she could almost hear his voice, admonishing her for riding her bike too fast down their uneven streets—but almost as quickly as the thoughts had come, they were retreating in the face of the pressure of the taxi driver's hand falling upon her shoulder, her entire body tensing as she pulled away from that contact and forced her attention back to the present once more.

"Your bag, ma'am—"

"Thank you," Riley said, aware of how the man's eyes had narrowed in response to her apparent former daze, and consequently how her tone had turned brittle almost immediately in response, "I can take it from here."

"Ya know, for a girl who's coming home, you don't seem very happy about it."

"That's because I'm not."

"Oh. Well—have a nice day, now."

"Yeah. You too."

The sound of tires crunching on the gravel of the driveway soon reached Riley's ears, the resultant dust cloud causing her to cough just a bit before she finally summoned the wherewithal to take the first step towards the home she had never thought to return to again. Almost immediately, she became aware of the fact that she appeared to have the house to herself, at least for the moment, the absence of her father's car bringing a temporary reprieve from the anxiousness that had seemed all but determined to plague her since she first slid into the cab that brought her home. But even as she took the two steps up to the porch, and stooped to reach for the weathered gnome statue that had hidden the spare key to the front door for years, she was not entirely able to shake the trepidation she felt over stepping through that door, particularly as she was well aware that her father would be home from work sooner, rather than later…

No matter how much she might have tried to convince herself otherwise, Riley was not so optimistic as to think that reunion would go off without a hitch.

Regardless of her own personal feelings on the matter, however, the brunette somehow managed to fit the spare key in the lock of the front door and step inside, one hand lifting to remove her sunglasses while the other dropped the key on the table beside the door. Almost instinctively, she found herself permitting her gaze to roam around the front room, the fact that almost nothing had changed since she had last seen it causing an unrecognizable sensation to settle at the pit of her stomach, as though it was entirely unwilling to let go. And even though every cell in her body was practically screaming at her to turn on her heel and walk right back out that door, Riley forced herself to stay put, a tremulous breath leaving her as she put one foot in front of the other until she ended up in the room she had so often holed herself away in as a child.

In spite of how ridiculous it might have appeared to anyone else, Riley could not help but let out a choked laugh as she flicked on the light switch by the bedroom door, the vibrant pink of the walls nearly blinding when compared to the darker tons in the rest of the house. The twin bed was still situated in the corner of the room, standing right beside the god-awful neon green dresser with brilliant yellow flowers that she had absolutely begged for when she and her parents saw it in the local furniture store. And although the furniture still clashed every bit as much as it had when she left Charming, Riley could not entirely find it within her power to avoid softening just a bit where her feelings towards her father were concerned, a reluctant sigh passing between parted lips as she moved further into the room, and situated the bag she had brought along against the far wall.

Before she might become too sentimental, however, Riley forced herself to abandon the room in favor of moving back into the den, and through the small hall that connected it to the kitchen, one brow quirking as she took note of the crumpled piece of paper resting on top of the counter. Without her even consciously willing it, her feet carried her towards it, heels giving off muted clicks as she moved across the faded linoleum, and reached for the paper with a hand that shook far more than she would have cared to admit.

Never before had she wished so fervently that she could somehow forget her uncertainties, and simply move forward without so much as blinking an eye.

Obviously that outcome was not to be, however, particularly given how her heartrate seemed to accelerate simply by glancing at her father's familiar, scratchy handwriting…

Ri—

Couldn't get out of working a double today, sorry to miss your arrival. Money for dinner is in the drawer by the fridge. Call me at the station if you need anything. Should be home by 10.

Dad

Exhaling and tossing the paper back onto the counter, Riley leaned against it for a moment, palms flat against the smooth surface so that she could slowly stretch her spine until it gave a muted pop of appreciation. Truthfully, it felt as though she had been stuck sitting in a car for ages, though the journey was nowhere near that long. And although she had not a clue what she was supposed to do until her father came home later that evening, some stubborn part of her—perhaps even the more childish part of her nature—all but refused to settle down for a night in on her own, a faint smile turning the corners of her mouth upward as she rifled through the drawer mentioned in her father's note to find the money, before walking back to the room that was to become her own once more.

In spite of her initial trepidation, Riley felt curiously encouraged by the prospect of enjoying one last night of freedom on her father's dime…

…

Situated where she was at a high-top table near the bar, her elbows resting on the somewhat sticky surface, and the fourth margarita she was nursing aiding her in the rather stunning lack of revulsion over said surface, Riley found herself absently humming along to whatever tune was playing from the stereo speakers behind her, a half a dozen thoughts seeming to whiz through her mind at once, in spite of how she was powerless to latch on to a single one of them.

Yet again, tequila had succeeded in dulling the impact of such thoughts, without taking them away entirely, and Riley was not entirely certain whether she found that to be a good thing, or not.

Whether she enjoyed the end result of her decision to venture out on her own or not, though, the young woman knew she would have been a fool to resist the urge to simply live in the moment, the remainder of her margarita burning her throat on its way down, and provoking a wince before she could fully stop it.

Damn, but she was going to regret this in the morning…

"Lookin' a little lonely there, sugar. Want some company?"

Effectively jolted out of her silent musings, Riley placed the now-empty margarita glass back on the table, blinking her eyes a few times in hopes of clearing her vision, and simultaneously hoping with all she had that the man who had so easily taken the seat across from her would not notice her apparent intoxication. Of course, the desire was most likely futile, especially given how the man's blue eyes had strayed to the empty glass for a moment, before returning to her own features and, rather predictably, dropping down to her chest. If she weren't so bleary, and if she hadn't chosen her outfit with the specific intent of provoking someone's interest, Riley might have been offended at the obvious leer her newfound companion was giving her—

But of course, she was far from sober, and coupling that with the potential amusement she could obtain from yanking the guy's chain just a bit was a far more powerful motivator than she was prepared to resist.

"Seems like you've already taken that seat whether I want company or not," She replied, sending the stranger a miniscule grin, and simultaneously lifting a brow as she realized he was flagging the bartender for another drink, "And you're—ordering me a drink?"

"Just trying to be a gentleman."

"Well it's working."

"You think so?"

"Oh I know so."

In response to her rather obviously brazen attempt at reassurance, Riley was not surprised to note that her companion's smirk had only grown, particularly as she chose that particular moment to allow her gaze to travel over his features in earnest. He was handsome, she supposed, in an older, more rugged way than what she was used to, the manner in which his dark hair seemed to have a mind of its own almost endearing in spite of the very obvious aura of danger that Riley had picked up on almost as soon as the man sat down. Though she did what she could to avoid allowing her attention to linger on his clothing, she was well aware of the patches and what they meant.

Somehow, that only made the prospect of staying exactly where she was all the more intriguing.

Suppressing a grin at the thought, and redirecting her attention to the present in just enough time to realize that the bartender had arrived with their drinks, Riley found herself letting out a short laugh while her fingertips drew the bottle closer towards her. For a moment, she simply remained silent, one nail slipping beneath the corner of the bottle's label to pick at it for lack of anything else to do with her hands. For some reason, a portion of her initial uncertainty appeared to have returned to plague her, her grip on the beer bottle only tightening so that her companion wouldn't see the way her hands had begun to shake just a bit—but whether he did or not, Riley soon found that it did not appear to matter, the sudden whiff of cigarette smoke that tickled her nostrils diverting her from her internal musings so that she was forced to meet the stranger's blue-eyed gaze once more.

"You okay, sugar?"

"Just fine," Riley assured, leaning forward to place both elbows upon the table, and averting her gaze to where her finger was still picking at the label on the bottle in her hands, "Just thinking of all the times I was told not to mix my drinks when I was little."

"Whoever told you that just didn't appreciate the spirit of adventure."

"I couldn't agree more."

"You from around here, then?" The man inquired, blue eyes once again straying to Riley's chest, and causing her to feel bold enough to give his shin a kick beneath the table with the toe of her boot to chastise him, "What? It's an innocent question!"

"The question was innocent. But my face is up here."

"Girl's got an attitude on her. I like that."

"I'm sure you do," Riley quipped, tempering her words, and the kick to the man's shin with a smile, and the slightest pressure of her foot rubbing against his jeans, "And the answer to your question, by the way, is kind of."

"Kind of? How can you be 'kind of' from around here?"

"It's a long story."

"I've got nothing but time."

"Well I generally make it a rule to not disclose my full life story to a man without even knowing his name," Riley began, directing the full weight of her gaze onto the man sitting across from her, and finding herself more than a little pleased when he offered her a half-grin in return, "I'd add that he usually has to buy me a drink first, too, but you've already done that."

"I think I know by now how to treat a lady."

"And your name?"

"Think I might need a little something in return before I give you that," The man stated, a cocky grin stealing over his features in light of how Riley's face blanched despite her desire to mask it, "I'm only in the habit of giving my name to close friends."

"Is that what we'll be then? Friends?"

"Something like that, yeah."

"Well I might need a bit more to drink first," Riley confessed, the laughter that her remark provoked from her companion sending a small shiver down her spine, and prompting her to take a larger sip of beer than was wise to steel her nerves. Truthfully, she had no intention of actually sleeping with him, in spite of how that outcome was very clearly what the man seemed to desire. But even with the very real awareness that if she continued to bait him, such as it was, she might end up doing exactly that, Riley also knew that if she tried to pull away now, there was a very good chance she might end up in even more trouble than she was in right now.

Though she had only glanced their way once, she was not blind to the group of men in the far corner of the bar that appeared to be watching her interaction with their comrade with an undue amount of interest…

"You going to drink that beer, or just watch me drink mine?"

"Wasn't aware it was a competition," The man joked, leaning on the table to get just a fraction of an inch closer to his companion, and sending her a wink before going on, "You sure you want to go up against me, sugar?"

"Who said I was going up against you? I just don't want to be the only one drinking herself under the table, here."

"Never would've taken you for a lightweight—"

"I'm not a lightweight."

"Why don't you go ahead and prove it, then?"

Before she could avoid it, Riley found herself held firmly in place by the man's fingers as they curled in a light grip around her wrist, something in his gaze seeming to indicate that his hold could turn more threatening if she made a wrong move. For a moment, her breath seemed to catch in her throat, every muscle tensing as she fought of the brief surge of panic that threatened to overwhelm her at the idea of what she had just managed to get herself into. But before she could fully decide on what her best course of action might be, Riley found herself biting back a low groan of resignation, the familiar, if not hardened quality of the voice that reached her ears causing her to wish she had chosen to go anywhere but where she was now.

"I suggest you take your hand off the lady's arm now, if you know what's good for you."

"This your boyfriend?"

"I'm her father, dipshit," The newcomer spat, straightening just a bit as the other man relinquished his seat, and chose to stand toe to toe with him, instead, "And I suggest you move on. Now."

For a moment—mere seconds, if truth be told—it seemed as though the man was actually contemplating going up against the newcomer, in spite of who he was, and what consequences could arise from the act in and of itself. But before things can escalate any further, Riley found herself letting out a breath of relief as the man she had been chatting with raised both hands in a gesture of surrender, and began to make his way back to the men at the other end of the bar.

"Calm down, boss. No need to bring out the big guns, I'm goin'."

"You damn well better be."

"Dad," Riley hissed, reaching out to place a placating hand against her father's forearm, only to find that she was pulling away just as quickly in response to the look of absolute fury that was apparent in his expression, "Dad—don't—"

"Go to the car, Riley."

"But—"

"The car, Riley. Or I swear to God, I'll cuff you and drag you there myself."

Aware of the potential futility in any protest that she might make, Riley chose to simply nod and move past her father towards the door of the bar in spite of her deep-seated need to disagree with her father's instruction, the rush of the liquor she had consumed hitting her far faster than she had anticipated, and causing her to stumble just a bit as a result. With one hand resting against a nearby table to steady herself, the young woman found herself once again falling prey to the sensation of her cheeks burning as the sound of raucous laughter reached her from the direction in which her would-be one night stand had moved toward—and although she knew, on some level, that it was the furthest thing from wise, Riley could not help but glance their way, her attention finding itself riveted on an entirely different person as she paused just before the door.

In spite of the fact that she could tell just from one look that this man was every bit as dangerous—as wild as the man she had been speaking to before, somehow, the innate fear she had felt during that interaction was as nothing compared to the intrigue she felt now, beneath the weight of the blond stranger's penetrating gaze…

…

"So are you going to tell me what the hell it was you were thinking, or am I just going to have to guess?" Deputy Chief David Hale inquired, keeping his attention rather firmly rooted on the road ahead of them, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he fought to keep his frustration under control. In truth, he was forced to admit that he had expected nothing less of his daughter upon her return to the town she had left with her mother what seemed like ages ago. But no matter what he might have predicted, he was still unable to forgo the almost instinctive urge to drill into her the precise gravity of what she had almost done, his hold tightening just a bit on the steering wheel before he realized she had already moved to answer his query with one of her own.

"That depends, Dad. You gonna tell me how you knew where I was?"

"You really have to ask me that? With what I do for a living?"

"Since I haven't seen you in twelve years, yeah. I think I am," Riley retorted, her attention remaining fixed upon the scenery passing by through the passenger side window of her father's car, as though the act of glancing at him directly would cause her physical pain, "I thought you weren't due home 'til ten, anyway—"

"Work wrapped up early. And to answer your other question, I think I might know you a bit better than you think"

"How do you figure? We only spent a handful of holidays together after the divorce."

"Because your mom seemed to think—"

"No. No, you do not get to blame her for this. Not now."

"I'm not blaming her, Ri. Just stating facts," Hale assured, finally allowing his gaze to shift from the road, to his daughter just as she made the decision to look at him as well, "What we had went bad but that doesn't mean I didn't still care about her. About you both."

"Could've fooled me."

"So you were what, trying to get cozy with that asshole back there to get some sort of revenge on me? To get me to prove that I do care?"

"No."

"No? Then why the hell were you doin' it?"

"Because I can, Dad. There's no reason for it beyond that," Riley stated, folding her arms across her chest, and chewing worriedly at her lower lip for a moment in direct contrast to her desire to appear unflappable, "God knows we need some sort of excitement in this town—"

"You want excitement, you go to the local fair. You don't go trying to tangle with someone in a god-damned biker gang!"

"Oh—was that who that was?"

"Don't play stupid with me, Riley. You know exactly who that man was."

"Actually I never did get his name."

"Yeah, but you saw what he was wearing," Hale pressed, switching into the center lane to make the left hand turn that would take them back home, and once again risking a glance at his daughter, who appeared to have resumed her feigned attempt at staring out the window, "From now on, you're not going anywhere near him, or anyone in his gang, you got it?"

"So now you're telling me what to do. Just what I always wanted when I came back home."

"Yeah, I'm telling you what to do. And you're gonna listen. My job in this—the reason I took you in—is to keep you safe, Ri. And I'm not about to fail just because you keep courting danger every damned time I turn my back."

"Wow. You really do care," Riley scoffed, sarcasm heavy in her tone as she shifted minutely in the passenger seat, and winced against the predictable digging of the seatbelt into the skin of her neck as a result, "Color me surprised."

"Think whatever you want," Hale replied, turning into the gravel drive of his home, and throwing the car in park so that he might reach across the space between himself and his daughter, and grab her hand before she gathered the wherewithal to pull away.

"But you are going to stay the hell away from anyone even remotely affiliated with the Sons of Anarchy as long as you're living under my roof."

No matter the tendency of the rest of Charming's inhabitants to look the other way where the biker gang was concerned, Hale would be damned if his daughter became yet another victim that fell prey to the lawless vigilantes and their crimes…

…


	3. Family Reunion

The sun's rays were near to blinding as Riley opened her eyes the following morning and almost immediately flung an arm over her brow, a low groan escaping as the incessant pounding of her head threatened to bring the contents of her stomach back to the surface, limited as they were. She only just recalled having scarfed down some leftover pizza at her father's insistence once they had returned home, the grease in combination with the sour taste at the back of her throat prompting her brow to furrow as she struggled to keep it all down. Some small part of her recalled hearing her mother say that purging after a night of heavy drinking actually made the stomach feel better, though she had never actually tried to take that advice, herself. But even if she wanted to try, at this point, Riley could not bring herself to do it, another groan leaving her parted lips as she curled into a ball beneath the coverlet of her bed, and prayed fervently that she could just go back to sleep.

Tequila, beer, and pizza. Horrible combination.

A faint rustling outside of her bedroom door suggested that her father was awake, the muted clump of shoes in the hallway only confirming that suspicion, and causing Riley to throw back the coverlet and gingerly force herself into a seated position with her legs dangling over the edge of the bed. Almost as soon as she had done so, she regretted it, the pounding in her head becoming so forceful that she could barely breathe. For a moment, she squeezed her eyes completely closed, cradling her head in her hands and forcing herself to breathe in through her nose, and out through her mouth—

Of course, the soft sound of a knock at her bedroom door only made things worse.

"Ri—you alive in there?" Her father inquired, a soft squeak indicating that he had chosen to open her door, and ignore the implication of why it had been closed in the first place, "How you doin', kid?"

"Peachy. Just peachy."

"You look like the exact opposite."

"Thanks, Dad. Love you too," Riley groused, massaging her temples with the tips of her fingers, and frowning a bit as she felt the tell-tale dip in the bed beside her that meant her father had taken the liberty of sitting at her side, "Mind if I borrow your gun?"

"Why?"

"To put myself out of my misery—"

"Nope. Suffering builds character," Hale quipped, clapping a hand on Riley's shoulder, and suppressing a chuckle as she winced rather obviously in response, "Motrin is in the bathroom cabinet. Just made some coffee, too."

"You work today, then?"

"Yep. But don't go getting any bright ideas about what you're going to do while I'm gone."

"What I'm going to do?" Riley repeated, giving off another little groan, and running her tongue over her lips in hopes of doing anything to distract herself from the overwhelming urge she had to vomit, "I'm planning on just staying in bed and praying for death."

"I'm being serious, Ri."

"So am I."

"Well if you need anything, the station's number is on the counter," Hale pressed, regarding his daughter and her haggard appearance for a moment, before moving to stand, and running a hand over close-cropped hair before going on, "You think you're gonna be up for meeting me for lunch?"

"I'll try my best."

"Wow. Not even a protest. I'm shocked."

"Dad—"

"Okay, okay—I can take a hint. I'll see you later on?"

"Yeah," Riley agreed, surprising herself with the readiness of her answer, and yet finding herself entirely incapable of summoning the willpower to change it at the last moment, the jackhammering going on inside her skull giving her all the motive in the world to simply slump back on top of the coverlet over her bed after her father had left the room, instinct prompting her to curl onto her side once more while squeezing her eyes shut and placing a pillow over her eyes.

"See you later."

…

It wasn't until eleven that Riley felt even remotely capable of standing on her own two feet for long enough to get herself to the bathroom for the Motrin her father had mentioned earlier, her palms resting against the coolness of the sink for a moment after she downed four of the tiny orange pills with just a small sip of water to accompany them. Not long after, she peeled her clothing off, a snort of amusement escaping as she realized she had fallen asleep in the same clothes that she had worn to the bar the night before without even attempting to change. Were she to be honest with herself, she would have to admit that it wasn't all that surprising, with how blurry her mind had been by the time she and her father made it home. But almost as soon as the thought came to mind, she was pushing it aside, and instead choosing to focus on the sensation of the water's warmth as it cascaded against her hair and her bare back, a sigh escaping as she stepped further into the spray and reached for the bottle of shampoo hanging on the wire rack behind her.

If she knew her father, then she knew her antics from last night would be resurfacing soon enough without her own conscious decision to dwell on them of her own volition…

A frown marred Riley's features as the thought of exactly what this lunch might entail, given her father's very obvious opinions regarding what she had done almost immediately after her arrival in Charming, her fingers kneading at her scalp in hopes of easing the pain of her headache while she simultaneously leaned a hip against the wall of the shower. Bit by bit, she could tell she was coming back to herself, though the sour taste at the back of her mouth didn't seem to have disappeared. And although she was more than a little apprehensive over exactly what her father had in mind for their impromptu meal together, Riley would have been a liar to pretend that she wasn't at least a little curious.

Deciding to allow that curiosity to motivate her to move just a bit faster, Riley soon found that she was stepping out of the shower and tying her damp curls in a sloppy knot at the base of her skull before padding back into her bedroom and beginning the search for fresh clothes. Some sort of self-preservation instinct all but forced her to opt for an outfit that was more conservative than the one she had chosen last night, knowing that anything less would only make matters worse.

No matter the relentless pounding of her head, Riley knew that she could not afford that.

With such a thought in mind, she donned a pair of faded blue jeans, and a light pink t-shirt, before turning back towards her suitcase to rifle through it in search of her flip flops. Pausing for a moment, so that she could make a mental note to start organizing her things as soon as she got back from this afternoon's outing, Riley found herself wondering if maybe her return to Charming might not be so daunting after all seeing as she hadn't actually managed to find herself going crazy with boredom, yet.

Of course, there was still time…

Unable to resist the urge to laugh at the thought, Riley settled instead for tossing the flip flops onto the carpeting so that she could slip her feet into them, her eyes darting to the dusty old mirror situated above her dresser, just as it had always been, only to find herself wincing as she caught sight of the reflection in the glass. No makeup and still damp hair gave her the impression of a very poorly drowned rat, particularly once coupled with the pale sheen to her skin. But a glance at the clock on the dresser quickly informed her that she had no time to attempt to find her makeup bag to fix her appearance, a sigh escaping her for what felt like the hundredth time as she reached for her purse and slung it over her shoulder.

For now, at least, her appearance seemed to be as good as it was going to get.

…

"Riley Hale—my God, I can't believe it's really you," Chief Wayne Unser enthused, whatever errand he had been on that brought him down the hall very obviously forgotten in favor of moving towards the young woman standing in the lobby so that he could pull her into a warm embrace, "Your dad said you'd be stopping by—"

"And you still recognize me? I haven't been here in years."

"Watch it, kid. Just 'cause I'm old doesn't mean I've lost my mind."

"Apparently so," Riley laughed, something in the older man's embrace bringing a temporary lump to her throat as it provoked a memory of another touch that she would never feel again, "You ah—you doing okay?"

"Sure, sure, just trying to keep your father in line like always," Unser supplied, aware of the sudden strain in the young woman's features, and seeking to avert it in whatever way he could, "He likes to think he rules the roost sometimes."

"Don't I know it."

"You two doing alright then? With you being back?"

"Maybe?" Riley managed, her hands instinctively seeking the pockets of her jeans while she simultaneously rocked up on the balls of her feet in hopes that the movement might ease some of the tension that had taken root between her shoulder blades, "Honestly, I think this lunch date is the most time we've spent together since before I left."

"Well you'll get there, Riley. I think it's safe to say you can trust me on that," The police chief assured, glancing behind him at the sound of footsteps moving their way, and managing a faint smile as he discerned that the source of that sound was none other than the young woman's father, "And speaking of which, here's your father now."

"You two talking about me, then?"

"That a crime now, boss?"

"No," Hale responded, only just managing to stop himself from rolling his eyes at the older man's quip, and instead choosing to direct his attention to where Riley stood chewing half-heartedly at her lower lip, "Ready to go, Riley?"

"Yeah. Yeah, definitely."

"Alright then. Unser, you got this til I get back?"

"What is this, my first day?"

"Just making sure."

"Dad, come on, he's been doing this a lot longer than you have," Riley intervened, sending Unser a soft smile, and lifting a brow as her father regarded her quizzically for a moment before turning back to the chief as well.

"You turning my own kid against me, Unser?"

"Hey—not my fault if she chose the gentler man for the job," Unser supplied, chuckling at Hale's obvious exasperation, and finding himself rather more than a little pleased that his remark had given Riley the wherewithal to emit a laugh of her own before she latched onto her father's shoulder and began to nudge him towards the door, "You two have fun, okay?"

"Oh I'll have loads. Not too sure about my dad, though—"

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you need to get in the car, Dad," Riley stated, giving her father another shove in the shoulder, and suppressing her own amusement over how his blue eyes had widened in surprise at the gesture, though she could hardly understand the motives behind it herself, "Or I might just be tempted to go back to that bar from last night. I'm starving."

"Okay, smartass, I get your point. Let's go."

"Aye-aye, Captain."

"Riley Diane Hale, I swear to God—"

"Wow. Touchy much?" The young woman mused, opening the passenger side door of her father's car, and flopping into the seat before closing it behind her while a sudden gust of wind toyed with some dark tendrils of hair that had fallen free of the knot at the nape of her neck, "Unser and I were just teasing, you know."

"You were. I'm not so sure about him," Hale admitted jamming the key in the ignition, and reaching towards the console that rested between them for the sunglasses he had left there earlier this morning, "But I didn't ask you to lunch to talk shop."

"No?"

"No."

"Then what did you want to talk about?" Riley asked, lifting a hand to shade her eyes from the glare of the sun, and turning just a bit so that she could observe her father while he replied.

"Up to you, kid."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah. Unless you want to rip the band-aid off right now and talk about last night at that bar—"

"Nope. Nope, I'll think of something," Riley stated, shifting slightly out of a desire to get rid of the sudden spike in her heartrate over the mere thought of discussing her hair-brained attempt at flirtation the previous evening, "Where were you thinking of going for lunch?"

"Diner?"

"Okay."

Aware of her father's answering nod of approval, Riley averted her eyes, at least for the time-being, choosing instead to allow her gaze to wander over the passing sites of the town she was supposed to call home while her father drove out of the lot of the precinct, and headed towards the intersection that would lead to the diner. And that was when she saw it—the familiar blond hair of the man she had glimpsed, even if only briefly, at the bar last night, the realization that her father was about to pull up right beside him causing panic to flare within her chest as she did anything she could to make herself as inconspicuous as possible.

"How you doing, Jax?" Her father began, rolling to a stop beside the man, and raising his voice to be heard over the steady rumble of his bike, "Heard about Wendy and the baby. I'm sorry."

"Thanks."

"You know, I took a ride out to the streams today. Saw that warehouse that burned down," Hale persisted, aware of how Jax had almost automatically glanced towards Riley in the seat beside him, and yet finding himself pleasantly surprised when he came to the realization that she was not even looking his way, even in spite of the obvious cockiness in his ensuing reply.

"Outside your jurisdiction, ain't it?" The biker deadpanned, obviously not in the mood to deal with Hale's attempt to fish for information, and equally as aggravated by the fact that the woman sitting in the passenger seat beside him seemed to be doing all in her power to avoid looking his way. The details were blurry, given the sizeable amount of alcohol he had imbibed in at the bar the night before, and Tig's relative lack of disclosure when it came to what exactly had gone down, but something about her seemed familiar, at least on the surface…and her presence in Hale's car could mean only one of two things.

She was either his family, or his girlfriend, and Jax was determined to find out which.

"You ever hear of a Bluebird Supply Company?" Hale persisted, his words apparently jolting Jax back to the present, though the biker had the wherewithal to appear only moderately out of sorts, "Apparently they hold the title on that parcel."

"Never heard of 'em."

"Whole area was littered with casings and gun parts. That warehouse was a weapons depot."

That particular admission from her father's lips caught Riley's attention, forcing her to look towards him, and by consequence, the biker—Jax—as well while simultaneously lifting a hand to her mouth out of instinct so that she could begin chewing half-heartedly at her thumbnail. In spite of herself, Riley found that her eyes were meeting Jax's, though her father had almost immediately shifted his own stance as though he wanted to block her from view.

Yeah, like that would work…

"No kidding," Jax replied, suppressing a smirk as he caught on to how Hale had automatically shifted to partially block the woman who was with him from his sight, and lifting a brow as the older man began to speak once again.

"Chief Unser's retiring at the end of this month. I'll be stepping into those shoes. Unser's always had a look the other way policy with the Sons of Anarchy."

"Unser's a lazy drunk."

"I will not look the other way, Jax. Just a friendly heads-up," Hale interrupted, the emphasis he placed on his words giving no room for argument, though that did not stop him from smirking just a bit before he replied.

"We're all free men protected by the Constitution. You look any way you want, Chief. And you have a good day, darlin'."

Unable to resist the flush that stole over her cheeks as she watched while Jax rode ahead of them on his bike, Riley carefully avoided her father's gaze, and instead pretended to be fascinated by a stray thread on her jeans. She could already hear the lecture she'd receive if she even began to show any sort of interest in the guy—a lecture that she might end up getting anyway, seeing as the conversation her father had just shared with Jax was all too likely to serve as a reminder of her own transgressions from last night. And although she really wished she could avoid it, Riley was soon forcing herself to risk a glance in her father's direction, a small swell of relief washing over her as she discerned his attention was almost fully resting upon the road.

From that vantage point, it was fairly obvious that her father was riled by the recent encounter, the slight twitch that a muscle in his jaw made every so often serving as a reliable indicator that his blood was up, whether he wanted it to be or not. Even with the sun glaring in her eyes, Riley could tell that his hands were locked tight upon the steering wheel, as though he had reason to believe that if he removed them, he'd be tempted to reach for his gun.

He was very clearly keyed up, and Riley wasn't sure if she wanted to consider what might have happened had she not been in the passenger seat beside him.

"Dad—you good?" Riley asked, a frown marring her brow as she regarded her father with an expression that showed genuine concern. She couldn't remember ever having seen him quite this worked up, at least not from the distant memories of her childhood before she moved. And yet, she could not seem to get a handle on the renewed sense of trepidation she felt as her father met her gaze head-on, her eyes widening as she took note of the blatant aggravation in his appearance as he replied.

"I'm good, Ri. We're good."

Somehow, Riley was not entirely prepared to believe that was the case…

…


	4. Curiosity Killed The Cat

"You two all set?" The waitress inquired, sending a brazenly flirtatious smile Hale's way, and consequently prompting Riley to suppress a snort of amusement while she attempted to occupy herself with the remainder of the French fries on her plate, "We have some delicious pies that just came out of the oven—"

"We're good. Thanks."

"You sure? Looks like you two could have a sweet tooth if you tried."

"Yeah, I'm sure," Hale replied, one brow lifting as he took in the small snort his daughter gave in response to his answer, though he was still capable of remaining aloof enough to glance back at the waitress and manage a faint smile, "Thank you."

"I'll be back with the check, then?"

"Please."

With a slight huff of disappointment, and a sour glance at Riley, the waitress flounced away towards the kitchen, leaving Hale in peace with his daughter once again, and thus allowing him the liberty of giving her his full attention. For a reason he doubted he truly wanted to learn, she seemed completely incapable of suppressing the growing smirk that was so clearly fighting its way across her features, her eyes meeting his for only a moment before she was redirecting her attention to the French fry she held in one hand as though it were the most fascinating thing in the world. And although some small part of him knew he was likely better off not asking, he could not resist the impulse to do so, anyway, the awareness that this was perhaps the longest period of interaction he had been able to achieve with her in years causing him to want to prolong it as much as he could.

"What are you so amused about, Smirky McGee?"

"You really have to ask?"

"Considering the fact that I just did ask, I'd say the safe answer is yes—"

"Wow. And people say I'm oblivious," Riley laughed, popping the fry into her mouth and chewing carefully for a moment before swallowing it down and leaning her chin on the palm of her right hand, "She was flirting with you."

"What—Christ, Riley, no she wasn't."

"Trust me, Dad. She was."

"They must've put something in those fries, Ri. Clearly you're hallucinating," Hale stated, shifting uncomfortably at the mere suggestion of what his daughter seemed so sure the waitress had been attempting to do, only to find that the act had provoked an almost childlike giggle from Riley in response, "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"God, no. Not when I know I'm right."

"Christ."

"Maybe you should go after her. Get her number," Riley persisted, grinning widely as she discovered that her remark had caused a faint flush to break out upon her usually stoic father's cheeks, "Take her out for a night on the town—"

"Riley—"

"You know, maybe she'd enjoy going to the carnival that's coming back to town. Cotton candy, maybe a kiss on top of the ferris wheel too…"

"Okay. We need a new topic of conversation. Now," Hale interrupted, running his hand across his face in obvious exasperation, and yet finding himself entirely incapable of resisting the half-smile that toyed with one corner of his mouth, regardless. It would have been a lie to pretend he had not wanted to discuss half a dozen other things with his daughter, outside of topics that were even remotely related to the idea of dating. But even in the face of his embarrassment, he was not entirely willing to trade even this particular nature of conversation for anything else in the world.

In spite of the very real tension that he knew still lingered beneath the surface of his daughter's easy banter, the prospect of actually sharing a laugh or two with Riley, instead of words spoken out of aggravation was simply too good to pass up.

"What sort of topic were you thinking, then? The stock market? World peace?"

"Ha-ha. Very funny."

"I try," Riley quipped, disposing with the last of the French fries, and her tea before meeting her father's gaze head on once again, "Though I have to admit, I'm not very knowledgeable on either topic."

"Want to know a secret?"

"Sure."

"Neither am I."

Unable to resist the laugh that broke free in response to her father's confession, Riley leaned back against the wall of the booth she and her father occupied, her arms folding across her chest as she shook her head in apparent consternation. The nature of their conversation thus far stunned her, every bit as much as it appeared to have surprised her father. And although she was at a loss to explain why it seemed so easy, at least for the time-being, to interact with a man that she still harbored a bit of uncertainty towards, Riley was not entirely prepared to allow that doubt to tarnish what they appeared to have in the present, her body shifting so that she could bring both legs up to stretch out on the seat in front of her before she risked speaking again.

"Who knew? My dad, the comedian."

"Guess we know where you get your sense of humor from."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Riley accused, sending her father a subtle wink to soften her words, and finding herself surprisingly pleased that he grinned openly before responding to her jab with one of his own.

"Might mess with your dating prospects a bit—"

"I would've thought you'd be happy about that."

"In certain cases, yes," Hale admitted, a short laugh escaping as he registered Riley's predictable roll of the eyes as a result of his confession, "What? It's not like you can say it's an unusual feeling for a father to have about his little girl."

"Not after the proof you gave me earlier, no."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I saw exactly what you were doing with that guy on the motorcycle earlier," Riley began, taking note of how her father had almost automatically arranged his expression into something remotely close to feigned innocence, and cocking her head to the side as she mulled over how to press her inquiry without putting him on the defensive, "From where I'm sitting, it looked like the effort was wasted, though. He was more focused on you than me."

"Keep telling yourself that, kid. You don't know Jax Teller."

"Oh, so that's his name—"

"Yeah. Don't pretend like you didn't already know that," Hale deadpanned, regarding his daughter with an unreadable cast to his features, his brow furrowing for a moment as a direct result of Riley's apparent interest in the man, despite her obvious attempts to mask it, "By the end of this month, I doubt he'll be a problem anymore."

"Really. You going Rambo on me, Dad? Gonna take him out to some remote location and dump the body where no one will ever find it?"

"I'd be lying if I said the idea hadn't crossed my mind—"

"And yet you and I both know you'd never do it," Riley assured, aware of the skepticism that was so apparent in her father's gaze, and doing what she could to avoid letting it unnerve her, "You wouldn't be deputy chief if you were a dirty cop."

"You might be surprised," Hale countered, frowning at the thought of the depth of his own boss' involvement with the sketchier side of Charming's inhabitants, only to force a look away to the best of his ability as he caught how her curiosity only seemed to have intensified as a result, "If it meant keeping you safe, I would do something like that in a heartbeat."

"Dad—"

"I would. I don't see any point in denying it."

Stunned at the ferocity behind her father's words, Riley could do nothing more than remain silent, at least for the present moment, a lump wedging its way into her throat no matter how much she might have desired to avoid it. Some of the tension she had noticed before, after his brief interaction with Jax Teller was returning, his shoulders rigidly set while his fingers set to work at shredding a nearby napkin on the table. And although she had no real clue how to deter his apparent frustration, Riley found herself bound and determined to try, nonetheless, the sound of her attempting to clearing her throat effectively bringing her father's gaze back to her own so that she could take the liberty of attempting to distract him as best she could.

"Nothing is gonna happen to me, Dad."

"Yeah, well, I thought the same thing about your mother, and yet, here we are."

Almost immediately after he had said the words, Hale regretted them, the way in which Riley had tensed, with her legs sliding off of the booth seat to plant her feet flat upon the floor so that she could slide to the end of the seat and move to stand prompting him to curse under his breath while simultaneously reaching out to grab at her wrist before she could walk away. Fortunately for him, her abrupt path brought her face to face with their waitress again, finally making her way back with the bill. And even in spite of the low groan of frustration that Riley gave at having been so easily thwarted—at how just one look at her face told Hale that she was not even remotely prepared to listen to an apology—he had the wisdom to be grateful for the circumstances that forced her to stop attempting to walk away, his hand only relinquishing its hold upon Riley's arm as he reached into his back pocket for his wallet to pay the bill.

"Thanks, darlin'. Come back soon."

"Yeah. I'll do that," Hale replied, barely meeting the waitress' gaze, in spite of the discouraged huff she gave while his attention remained solely upon Riley, instead, "Ready to go, Ri?"

"I can walk home if you'd rather get back to work—"

"Like I'm going to allow that."

Aware of the scoff that served as Riley's only response to his assertion, Hale stood and placed a hand on her back between her shoulder blades to prompt her to move towards the door. To his surprise, in spite of her clouded expression and the way in which she had started to chew her lower lip as a telltale sign that she was upset, she did not flinch away from his touch. And half in an effort to keep it that way, Hale remained silent for the majority of the journey back to his car, only speaking once he had succeeded in unlocking the doors, and Riley was occupied with securing her seatbelt after closing her own door behind her.

"Ri—can you look at me for a second?"

"What, Dad?" Riley huffed, poignantly aware of how the unintended harshness in her tone had caused her father's expression to falter for just a moment, and yet finding herself incapable of rectifying the situation before he was speaking again.

"When I got that call—about your mom—I was gutted," Hale explained, shifting just a bit in the driver's seat in hopes that the act would keep his daughter's attention upon him, and not on whatever it was that she had been attempting to let her gaze wander back to in the distance, "But do you have any idea what my first thought was, after I knew she was gone?"

"You tell me."

"My first thought was I would come up to Orange County myself and hunt the prick down if he ended up hurting you, too."

"Well he didn't."

"No. He didn't. And I thank God or whatever other power is up there for that every damned day."

Biting her lip in hopes of keeping the stinging that had taken root at the backs of her eyes from turning into full-blown waterworks, Riley averted her gaze, only to find herself flinching as she felt the weight and warmth of her father's hand as it came to rest atop her own. She knew that he was telling the truth. That he would have done anything to get back at the man that had murdered her mother if he had taken her down with him. And in spite of how she knew she ought to have been pleased at the confession—how it should have warmed her heart, and made her feel less strained in her father's presence—Riley would have been a liar to pretend that she had not been thrown into an even more overwhelming sense of doubt, guilt, and sadness as a result of his assertion, her voice wavering a bit as she forced herself to meet his gaze head on before she spoke.

"I miss her. I miss her so bad it hurts, Dad—"

"I know you do, kid. But I promise you, I'm going to do everything in my power to keep you safe, here. You think you trust me on that?"

"I—yeah. Yeah, I think I can," Riley admitted, her brow furrowing a tiny bit in response to the ready reply she gave, while her eyes flicked down to where her father's hand was now gently squeezing her own. In truth, she hardly knew what had prompted her to answer her father so quickly, particularly as she hadn't had much of an opportunity to know him, albeit partially through her own choices, in a very long while. But something in the earnest expression he wore as he removed his hand from hers, and turned the key in the ignition had Riley had convinced her of the sincerity behind his assertion, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she leaned back against the seat, and redirected her attention to the passing scenery while her father pulled out of the diner lot.

"You think you could just come back to the station with me, instead of staying home alone?" Hale inquired, his eyes on the road now, in hopes that a wayward glance wouldn't pressure Riley to answer one way or the other. He would have been a fool to pretend that having her with him for the remainder of the day wouldn't set his mind at ease, especially in the wake of the conversation with Jax Teller that seemed all but determined to prey upon his mind. But if Riley was going to stay at the station, he wanted it to be her choice, not something she felt obligated to do—

If he had any chance at getting to know his little girl, Hale knew she would have to meet him halfway, and of her own volition, as well.

"Yeah. Yeah, sure, I'll stay."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," Riley confirmed, leaning forward to dig into her bag for her sunglasses, and donning them so that she could rest her head against the seat at her back, with one hand running through her hair as the wind blew it in haphazard tangles around her face.

"Worst case scenario, if you get stuck there late, I'll just bug the crap out of Unser until you're done."

"That's my girl."

Grinning faintly at the obvious pride in her father's words, Riley settled for simply lapsing into silence once again, all but determined to keep her thoughts firmly directed away from thoughts of her mother, and everything that had happened since her death. Her father was trying—he was really trying to make this work, and she believed that he would do whatever was in his power to keep her safe. And no matter her lingering trepidation over being back in a town she hadn't seen since she was six years old, Riley could not help but feel the smallest beginnings of relief as well, her attention straying to the group of leather-clad motorcyclists heading down the road in the opposite direction, as the roar of their bikes' engines sent an unfamiliar thrumming through her veins…

In spite of the way her father's hands tightened upon the steering wheel once again, Riley would have been a fool to pretend that it was not her goal to grill Chief Unser about the Sons of Anarchy as soon as her father was out of earshot.

What he didn't know couldn't hurt him.

…..


	5. Tension Rising

"So your dad forced you to stay, huh?"

"Not exactly," Riley admitted, leaning back in the chair Unser had offered, and grinning faintly at the small squeak it gave in protest before attempting to explain further, "More like he asked, and I actually agreed."

"Wow. Never saw that one coming."

"To be honest, neither did I."

"You two do okay at lunch, then?" Unser prodded, fiddling idly with a pen in his hand, and yet still watching the young woman seated across the desk from him as carefully as he dared. From what little Hale had disclosed surrounding his relationship with his daughter over the past few years, it had not been difficult to assume there was a degree of strain between them, particularly when it came to the rather abrupt departure and subsequent decisions of the girl's mother years ago. No matter what his deputy might have done to attempt to hide it, it would have taken a blind man not to see exactly how much that strain weighed him down, especially now, when the girl's mother was dead, and she was facing a return to a town that her rather conspicuous absence these last few years had indicated she never loved.

"I think so? He's still in denial that our waitress was flirting with him pretty hard, though."

"Oh? Now this sounds like a story I actually want to hear—"

"He'd probably kill us both if I told you," Riley mused, picking at some of the chipped nail polish on her left thumb nail with a slight furrow in her brow as though the act required maximum concentration, "You sure you want to take that risk?"

"I'm an old man, sweetheart. There's not much that frightens me anymore."

"She was cute. Tried to get him to try a slice of her pie, but he wouldn't have any of it."

"Jesus Christ," Unser laughed, shaking his head at the mental image provoked by just that one statement alone, and leaning forward to place an elbow on his desk so that he could rub idly at his right temple in an effort to stave off the dull throb his amusement had provoked—still more proof of exactly how much those damned chemo pills were taking out of him, when he couldn't even laugh without causing himself pain, "I'd have given up an entire month's pay just to see his face."

"It was pretty great."

"I take it your father's failed attempts at a social life outside of this office isn't what prompted you to seek me out, though—"

"No—no, I guess not," Riley admitted, risking a glance at the man seated across from her, and frowning a bit as she came to terms with how perceptive he appeared, even in spite of her attempts at creating a façade of innocence. It made sense, she supposed—he had to have been good at reading people, or else he'd have never made it to be Chief of Police. But still, that didn't mean she couldn't be just a little disappointed over the idea of having been outed so quickly, her teeth chewing at her lower lip for a moment before she heaved a sigh and directed her gaze to her thumb nail once more, "I uh—I wondered if you could tell me anything about the Sons of Anarchy."

"And why the hell would you want to know about them?" Unser demanded, surprise hardening his tone perhaps a bit more than he would have liked, while a protective instinct he didn't even know he still had kicked in as forcefully as if the young woman addressing him were his own flesh and blood, "You got some sort of death wish or somethin'?"

"No—why would a simple question mean that I had a death wish?"

"Because anyone that starts getting too involved with those guys tends to come out at the short end of the stick."

"Are you including yourself in that group, then?"

"What gives you the impression I'm involved with them?"

"Something my Dad said," Riley confessed, watching her companion carefully for any sign of a reaction to her chosen line of inquiry, and finding herself a bit relieved to note that he did not appear upset by her implication that he was affiliated with the group her father so clearly disliked. In truth, she wasn't exactly sure what had prompted her remark, especially as she had wanted to approach the subject as a whole with a bit more tact. But even in spite of her unanticipated remark, she was not entirely willing to give up her intended line of questioning, her expression softening a bit as she regarded the man she had always thought of as a kindly grandfather-figure for a moment before explaining herself further, "He said you have a—a look the other way policy with them."

"Of course he'd say that."

"Is it true?"

"Did he put you up to this?"

"God, no. I'm asking for—well, for personal reference, I guess."

"Personal reference," Unser repeated, scoffing a bit as he watched Riley watching him, her steady gaze alarming him a bit as it became abundantly clear that she was not about to back down without some serious effort on his part. Suppressing a grin, in spite of the fact that he knew full-well that Hale would personally kick his ass if anything he told her inadvertently got her involved with the well-known biker club, he found that he could not entirely avoid the realization that no matter how much she might deny it if anyone ever told her to her face, Riley was remarkably like her father when it came to stubborn determination…

Whether that trait would help or harm her, he supposed, would just have to be determined at a later date.

"I won't lie to you, sweetheart, I've made my share of bad decisions in the past," He admitted, once again reaching for the pen resting on the desk, and fiddling with it for a moment in silence before finishing his thought, "But for the most part, dealing with the Sons isn't one of them."

"Really? Because my Dad makes it sound like they're the devil incarnate."

"Some of them are. But some of them, given half the chance, aren't actually all that bad."

"Does that include Jax Teller?" Riley inquired, chewing at the inside of her cheek while simultaneously attempting to make her expression portray only mild curiosity, instead of the truly urgent need she felt to get some sort of an answer sooner rather than later. She knew that she was walking a fine line, here, between alerting Unser's suspicion enough that he would clam up and refuse to tell her any more, and acting too casual for him to take her seriously. But in spite of her sudden apprehension over her companion's sudden lapse into thoughtful silence, it appeared she had not triggered any of Unser's warning bells, a slight shift in his position the only warning she had before he was regarding her carefully for a brief moment before his reply.

"He's a bit of a tough nut to crack. But I'd bet my pension he's good more often than not."

"My—my Dad said he had a kid?"

"Yeah. Had a bit of a rough time coming into the world from what I hear. The ex had a bit of a drug habit."

The ex? So he wasn't married…

"Don't get any ideas, here, Riley. If your dad ever found out I was telling you this he'd have my head."

"He won't ever find out. I promise," Riley assured, sending Unser a grin, and noting how he lifted a brow in silent inquiry for a moment before his response.

"Somehow, I think if he really wants to, he will, kid."

"Why don't you let me worry about that?"

"Can you blame an old man for not wanting to get someone in trouble?" Unser questioned, a twitch of a smile forming at the corner of his mouth as he registered Riley's answering laugh, and leaned forward to place both elbows on the desk between them, "Something tells me you can do that well enough on your own."

"Hey!"

"It's not a bad thing, sweetheart. I'm kind of looking forward to watching you run circles around your old man."

"Don't let him hear you say that," Riley said, laughing again in spite of herself, and leaning forward so that she could place her hands palms-flat against both arms of the chair to push herself to stand, "I should probably go see if he's any closer to leaving—"

"Sure. Stop by any time. I mean that, kid," Unser advised, standing himself, and sending Riley one final smile before she turned from him and headed towards the door. For a moment, he was not even sure she would reply, her posture suddenly indicating uncertainty, even in the face of her previously complacent demeanor. But as soon as that uncertainty had appeared, it was gone, the fingers of one of her hands coming to rest lightly against the door frame while she turned her head back to glance at him over her shoulder with a faint smile upon her lips.

"Okay. I—I will."

Regardless of whether he would ever admit it out loud or not, Unser was more than a little relieved that his offer had been met with agreement, and not abject denial…

Something told him if Hale couldn't keep his daughter away from the men of SAMCRO of his own volition, it may be prudent to have someone on the inside to keep an eye on her for him.

…

An hour or so later, Riley found herself in her father's kitchen, poring over an old cookbook's yellowing pages with a tiny furrow marring her brow. Her father was currently out back, clearing up some last minute yard work after having offered to help with dinner preparation and being rather firmly turned down. And although she was entirely out of her element, as the most complex thing she had ever attempted to cook on her own was a microwavable package of lasagna, Riley was determined to attempt the pot roast, regardless, her finger trailing down the page as she mouthed the names of each ingredient silently for a moment before turning her attention back to the refrigerator to begin selecting them for use.

For some reason, her talk with Unser had only made her that much more curious about the goings-on in Charming since she had left it behind so many years ago, and she knew if there was one sure fire way to get her father to open up, even a little bit, it was through his stomach.

A wry smile touched her lips at the thought, until the act of attempting to balance the vegetables and roast together effectively garnered her attention, her foot extending to nudge the refrigerator door closed once more before maneuvering back towards the counter to set everything down. For a moment, her memories strayed back to all the times she would perch on one of the high top chairs, watching as her mom prepared whatever dish she had decided to experiment on for the evening, a soft sigh escaping as the inevitable rush of sadness and longing followed not long thereafter. No matter what she might do to avoid it, her thoughts seemed almost incapable of avoiding the return to her memories of her mother, even in spite of the pain it almost always caused as a result. And although she did not particularly want to, Riley found herself unable to resist the burning of the tears that had taken root in her eyes, her hands gripping the countertop as though it were a lifeline while a shuddering breath escaped her lungs.

Unbidden, the tears started to fall before she could stop them, one hand lifting to cover her mouth in an attempt at masking the near to choking sobs that just one simple thought of the past had provoked. She hated this—still feeling this weak—this damaged, even in spite of being removed from the immediate vicinity in which the event that had shaken her world apart at the seams had occurred. But in spite of her desire to push her emotions to the side, it seemed that they were still very much capable of resurfacing at the most inopportune moment…

Even a moment as simple as preparing a dinner to share with her father whenever he finished working in the yard.

Groaning a bit in response to the frustration that burned in her gut over her apparently fickle temperament at the moment, Riley hastily swept away the tears that still streamed down her cheeks, another shaky sigh escaping as she forced herself to stand erect and begin the task of plucking a knife from the nearest drawer so that she could begin slicing vegetables to season along with the roast. She knew what would happen if her father walked in and found her sobbing her heart out—knew that he would want to know what had caused her distress, and that his need to fix everything would only make it worse.

Perhaps that was what served as enough motivation to settle her nerves, at least for the time-being, the steady sound of the knife striking home on the cutting board as she diced the vegetables proving to be an unexpectedly settling balm in spite of the still minute trembling in her hand.

Whether she had wanted to or not, in the beginning, she had returned to Charming to attempt to begin to heal, and she would be damned if she didn't at least give it a try.

Her mother would have expected nothing less.

…

"This is—really good, Ri."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you sounded surprised, Dad," Riley mused, toying with a forked bit of potato on her plate, and risking a glance at her father from beneath her eyelashes as he almost immediately replied.

"Not surprised. I just—I never knew you could cook."

"I can't. Not really."

"Then where'd you get this? You rob Martha Stewart?" Hale pressed, pleased that his daughter's answering smile seemed to indicate she had obviously taken his quip as it was intended—as a joke, "Be careful how you reply to that. I'd hate to have to cart you down to lock-up."

"I was just reading an old recipe book I found in one of your cupboards, I promise," Riley explained, holding both hands, and consequently the fork and potato as well, out in a gesture of supplication with a half-smile tugging at the corner of her lips, "And I think it was more dumb luck than anything else that made everything come together."

"Well whatever it was, you keep cooking like this and I'm going to need to start going to the gym after work to keep from getting fat."

"You say that like it's a bad thing. What exactly were you eating before I moved in, huh?"

"TV dinners, and power bars."

"That's what I thought. I'd call this a definite improvement."

"So would I," Hale admitted, leaning back against the chair he occupied, and heaving a sigh as he acknowledged feeling well and truly well-fed for the first time in what felt like forever, "You think you could ah—try your hand at fried chicken?"

"I think the key word there would be 'try', but yeah. Yeah, I think I could. Though, I'm not sure the two of us really need all of that food to split between us—"

"Maybe we could have Unser for dinner."

"Good one, Dad," Riley teased, rolling her eyes at him as she scooted her chair back with a resounding grate of protest against the flooring, so that she could begin the task of clearing the dishes and taking them to the sink, "I know I wouldn't mind that, but I didn't exactly get the impression he was your cup of tea."

"What gave you that idea?"

"You really have to ask?"

Exhaling for perhaps a bit longer than was really necessary in the hopes of granting himself time to think of a suitable reply, Hale reached for the remainder of the beer that rested before him on the table so that he could down the rest of it in one gulp, before handing it to his daughter as she simultaneously relieved him of his place. Within a manner of seconds, her back was to him, her attention clearly riveted upon the dishes as she hummed an unfamiliar tune while she worked. And although a part of him wanted to seize upon this as leave to forget the current topic of their conversation, he could not entirely persuade himself to do so, the strange sort of camaraderie that had seemed to spring up between them in spite of their past differences proving far too important to him to risk.

"Unser and I don't always see eye to eye, no," He admitted, standing from the table himself, and moving towards the countertop so that he could reach for a towel and lean against the cupboard before explaining further, "But that shouldn't mean the man doesn't deserve a home cooked meal—"

"Dad—"

"What?"

"You and I both know that's not what this is about."

"Then what do you think this is about, Riley?" Hale inquired, watching as his daughter busied herself with filling the sink with soap and warm water, all the while never averting her eyes from the task at hand, "You gotta give me something in order for me to answer your question."

"Are you? Actually going to answer the question, I mean—"

"I'll try my best. That's all any man can do."

"Okay," Riley acknowledged, chewing at her lower lip for a moment before rolling her shoulders, and turning away from the task of washing dishes in favor of facing her father directly, "I'm pretty sure the main reason you two don't see eye to eye is your stance on the Sons of Anarchy—"

"Jesus Christ, Riley."

"Just let me finish," Riley pleaded, her gaze drifting to the towel that now dangled unnoticed in her father's hands, though the distraction did not do anything to lessen her awareness of his obvious discomfort over the topic she had chosen to discuss, "I just—if I'm going to live in this town, and you're going to throw everything you have at getting in their way, I think that means I have a right to know the basics of what you're getting into, at least."

"I think you're safer not knowing, Ri," Hale countered, something of the dread that had twisted in his gut the moment Jax Teller set eyes on his daughter returning to gnaw at his resolve, even in spite of his desire to ignore it, "And after Unser steps down, they won't be a problem. I can promise you that."

"Regardless, I think it would be better if I could at least know—"

"Know what? Their criminal records? Cell numbers? What? You were already damn near picked up in a bar by one of them! Do you need any more information about their personal character than that?"

"From where I'm standing, picking a girl up in a bar isn't a trait held exclusively by bikers, Dad," Riley retorted, turning back to the sink and the dishes soaking therein, and silently cursing herself for how her voice had cracked mid-sentence in spite of her desire to avoid it, "And for the record, I was a willing participant in that particular affair. Nothing was forced."

"And from where I'm standing, the more information I give you, the more you'll want to go digging. Can you really tell me I'm not right on that?"

"I don't think that's really the point—"

"I don't think it matters whether you do or not, Riley. I'm trying to protect you. And I can't do that if you're running off chasing the devil on a whim of curiosity!"

"Do you know what happened the last time someone tried to protect me? To keep me in the dark?" Riley demanded, removing one of the now-clean dishes from the sink, and handing it towards her father without really looking at him, knowing that if she did, whatever resolve she had left would fracture completely, "Mom died. She was murdered because she was trying to handle it all on her own."

"There was nothing you could have done—"

"Don't give me that. Don't you dare."

"There wasn't, Riley! Not unless you got yourself killed in the process," Hale exclaimed, aware of how his daughter had flinched in response to how he raised his voice, in part without even realizing that he had done so, "That was exactly what your mom was trying to avoid."

"So you're not going to tell me a thing," The young woman supplied, her tone flat, even in spite of the obvious regret she felt making itself known by the renewed sensation of a stinging at the corners of her eyes, "God, Dad, I'm not six years old anymore."

"Then stop acting like it, and try for trusting me when I tell you some things are better off left alone!"

Almost as soon as he said the words, Hale regretted them, the way in which Riley's expression crumpled for the briefest of moments before she was schooling it into something startlingly cold and detached instead chilling him no matter how many times he told himself it was for the best. He knew that she would just go digging further if he agreed to give her even the most minimal amount of detail, and the very last thing that he wanted was to see her caught in the middle of SAMCRO and its knack for staying on the wrong side of the law.

Now, he supposed, he should start praying that his own inaction and lack of disclosure would not achieve the same end result.

"You know, I think I can handle the dishes on my own, Dad," Riley stated, the clipped nature of her words rather effectively startling her father out of his own internal musings, and prompting him to look towards her with an expression that was so damned sympathetic it caused a lump to lodge part way up her throat, "You can—you can just finish whatever you need to outside."

Whether he wanted to protest or not, Hale knew that in light of what had just transpired between them, it would be far more prudent to simply let Riley be, knowing that when she was ready to acknowledge the wisdom behind his decision, she would come to him on her own.

…


	6. Lashing Out

The following morning, Riley made a point of remaining in her bedroom, feigning sleep until after she heard the telltale sound of the front door shutting and locking behind him, followed by the revving and then retreating hum of the engine of his car taking off down the road. Despite all of her efforts to avoid it, it had become rather apparent that she was not going to be able to shake the lingering sense of regret over the events that transpired between them the previous evening. And although she was far too stubborn to have decided to do anything to rectify the already tenuous relationship between herself, and her father without him making some sort of amends, first, Riley was not entirely willing to hold him completely responsible for everything that had gone wrong between them, a small frown marring her brow as she swung her legs over the edge of her bed, and tugged a hand through sleep-tousled hair.

Unbidden, her thoughts strayed back to her mother—to how she could recall that even after the divorce, she had always tried to serve as a bridge between her daughter and the man she had married. More times than not, she had been the one encouraging Riley to take her father's calls, no matter how much she may have protested, or griped and wined. Her mother was the one who used to insist upon Riley returning to Charming for a few weeks out of every summer, at least until Riley reached an age where the effort of convincing her to do so far outweighed any benefit her mother saw in forcing the issue without backing down.

Her mother had been the one to keep Riley and her father together, in spite of her own feelings towards the man, and no matter how reluctant she may be to be back in Charming, Riley wished more than ever that her mom was still around to attempt keeping the peace. Just a simple phone call would have been all it took to rearrange her daughter's priorities—to keep everything in perspective.

But her mom was gone, and Riley was very much alone, the silence in her father's house far more daunting than it had any right to be as she forced herself to stand, and padded over to the dresser to grab a fresh pair of clothes before hitting the shower.

"God, Mom, I miss you—"

Try though she might to will it otherwise, Riley was very well aware that the one thing that could bring her and her father to some sort of common ground, no matter how tenuous it may be, was gone, and there was absolutely nothing she could do to bring that back.

…

A shower and some dry cereal were about the only things Riley could stomach before needing to get out of the house, it seemed, the breath she took after shutting the front door behind her carrying far more relief than she had anticipated. In truth she had absolutely no idea where she was going, or what she would do when she got there. But something about being able to clear her head without threat of interference on her father's part, at least until far later in the afternoon or evening, was reassuring enough to prompt her shoulders to relax before she headed off towards the corner of the street while simultaneously tugging her sunglasses down from their position perched atop her head so she might use them to cover her eyes.

The clicking of her heeled sandals hitting the pavement as she moved were rather quickly drowned out by the sound of cars passing by as she neared the larger intersection beyond the home she had grown up in, the sound almost comforting despite its loud nature. For all its small town vibes, Riley was well aware that Charming still had its own hectic version of rush hour, such as it was—and in spite of herself, she found that she was suppressing a grin, her hand rising to get a tighter hold on the strap of her purse before she jogged across the street during a brief break in the flow of traffic.

No matter how her father might wax eloquent about Charming needing to modernize, she had to admit she would no longer recognize her hometown if it lost any of its 'rooted in the past' mystique…

As if in response to the thought, Riley found that she was investigating the chipped paint on some of the nearby homes and small business' office buildings as she moved up the sidewalk and towards the town proper, though she was careful to ensure that her intended path would not take her by the police station directly. If she were being honest with herself, she would not have minded getting another chance to speak with Unser, no matter the risk of her father catching her, and discerning only too quickly the exact reasoning behind her visit in the first place. But something instinctive seemed to hold her back, regardless, her desire for answers at least at the moment outweighed by the need to keep herself out of sight and out of mind until she discovered how to work past the newest obstacle in her relationship with the man she now lived with.

How to work past it—as if the solution would be that simple and forthcoming.

Suppressing a groan of frustration at the thought, Riley continued moving past the various shops and vacant buildings that lined the road she was traversing, her thoughts once again wandering back to the previous evening, and exactly how it had ended. She still could not see why he had reacted so strongly against the idea of letting her in, at least a little bit, when it came to what was apparently a significant part of both life in Charming, in general, and what he dealt with every day walking in to work. After all, it wasn't as though she was asking him to introduce her to one of the Sons, or let her ride along with him on a case—and after everything she had been through with her mother, she felt as though it was her right to know if she would inadvertently find herself in the same position here as she had back in Orange County.

Leave it to her father, though, to have overreacted at the mere expression of interest in an organization that he clearly believed to be dangerous, turning her own curiosity against her until she was somehow at fault for trying to stay in the know.

The situation was so similar to what had ended up happening with her mother that thinking about it brought the now-familiar sting of tears to Riley's eyes, the effect causing her to shake her head just a bit as though just that simple task alone would make them go away. She hated it—being able to get emotional on a dime, with or without sufficient provocation. But despite that feeling, Riley was entirely unable to avoid succumbing, regardless, the fingers of her free hand curling into a fist until she could once again feel the pricking of her nails against the skin of her palm.

If she thought that would distract her, however, she was sorely mistaken.

The sharp sound of her cell phone chirping at her from within the bag she had slung over her shoulder rather effectively startled Riley out of her internal musings, at least for the moment, her brow furrowing as she realized the hand that had reached inside her bag was trembling. Before she could spend too much time debating the significance of that fact, however, she was forcing herself to pull the device out of the bag so that she could read the name scrolling across the screen, an unbidden half-grin forming upon her lips as she eagerly flipped the phone open and answered the call.

"Arch! What on earth—how are you?" She enthused, momentarily coming to a pause on the sidewalk as relief and eagerness over the familiar voice outweighed her emotional dissonance as it pertained to her former internal musings, "I wasn't expecting you to call 'til later on this weekend."

"Yeah, well, I decided I actually missed you, at least at the moment," Arch replied, the warm laugh that echoed from the other end of the line prompting Riley to answer with one of her own before he went on, "How're you settling in?"

"You really want to know?"

"I asked, didn't I?"

"Okay. Your funeral."

"It can't be that bad—"

"It's—unique," Riley stated, stepping off the sidewalk, and onto the small strip of grass that bordered a nearby laundromat so that she could lean with her back against the cinderblocks while her free arm crossed protectively over her chest, "He's—well, my dad is just about as I thought he'd be."

"He giving you a hard time?"

"No more so than usual, I guess."

"You need me to come out there and kick his ass?"

"Yeah, because that would go over well—"

"It's a thought, though," Archer nudged, the apparent mirth in his tone causing Riley to roll her eyes in good natured amusement for a moment before she was squinting against the rays of the sun that pierced through even the shade of her sunglasses and the awning above her head while she replied.

"Not a very good one, Arch."

"Well then let's see what you came up with, genius."

"Shut up."

"So I'll take that as a confession that you have nothing."

"For right now," Riley corrected, frowning as she realized she truly might stand absolutely no chance of getting anywhere with her father for the foreseeable future, and trying to do what she could to avoid that realization prove to be too discouraging to enjoy the moment talking with an old friend, "Genius takes time, you know."

"Keep telling yourself that, kid."

"I will, Arch. Thank you for the advice."

"In all seriousness, though, are—are you alright?" Arch persisted, his tone suddenly turning serious, and forcing Riley's brow to furrow once more as she felt all the amusement from their ritualistic teasing fading away far more quickly than she wanted to admit, "I can come out there and visit—maybe see about getting you into your own place—"

"I think we both know that would end poorly."

"Why? Daddy dearest not wanting you to assert your independence?"

"More like Daddy dearest not wanting to deal with one of the people he holds responsible for Mom and I moving away to begin with."

"That's bullshit, Riles. Man needs to face the music and dance, already."

"Try telling him that," Riley quipped, removing the hand that had curled around her side so that she could chew idly at a hangnail for a moment before going on, "If he won't listen to me, he's sure as hell not going to listen to you."

"Well he'll have to if he hurts you, kid. That's a promise."

"Arch—"

"Don't 'Arch' me, Riley Diane Hale. You know I'll get in my car right the hell now, if I have to."

"He's not going to hurt me. I promise," Riley assured, frowning a bit as she realized her remark was already only a partial truth, given the events of the night before, and praying with all she had that Archer wouldn't notice the telltale waver in her voice that the realization brought about as a result, "He's my dad. Whatever else happens, that's got to count for something."

"I'm not so sure about that," Archer hedged, his voice sounding far away for just a moment, and consequently giving Riley every reason to believe that his thoughts were straying back to the day he had answered her mother's call, and picked them up in the dead of night to head for Orange County. She could remember her mother shaking her awake at four o'clock in the morning, her groggy moans and griping doing nothing to stall the inevitable removal from her bed, and enforced donning of jeans and a sweater. Within seconds, she had been herded into Archer's truck, squashed between his warm and sturdy frame, and her mother's while the engine roared to live and they drove away. And although her mother had always told her that her father never once blamed her for going away with them, Riley could never help but wonder if that had been a lie.

She had allowed them to take her away without a peep, and a part of her feared that her father might just have ended up hating her for it, after all…

"Hey—you still with me over there, kid?" Archer's voice broke into her thoughts, just as his call had done moments ago, forcing Riley to shake herself back to the present as quickly as she could so that she might assure both herself, and her god-father that she was, in fact, still in the present, and not dwelling somewhere within the recesses of her own mind.

"I—yeah. Sorry, Arch. I'm here. What were you saying?"

"I was saying I don't think I'll be holding my breath on the hope Captain Perfect won't end up breaking your heart," Archer said, his words almost turning into a growl, despite the obvious restraint he put behind them, "He sure as hell did a number on your mom."

"Well I'm not her," Riley argued, once again cursing how her voice wavered despite all she did to avoid it, and yet finding herself unable to resist the urge to continue attempting to defend her own ability to handle her father without getting hurt, "I have the benefit of being able to learn from her mistakes, Arch. That's got to be at least something of an advantage."

"You make sure you remember her mistakes, then. Because I will come out there if I have to."

"I know, Archer. And thank you for that. Really."

"Any time, sweetheart," Her god-father acknowledged, the sound of his throat clearing prompting Riley to suppress a grin as she realized that in spite of his apparent desire to avoid it, he, too, had been momentarily overcome by emotion, himself, "You take care of yourself, alright? I'll call you again this weekend?"

"Sounds fine to me."

"Okay then. Later, doll."

"Yeah. Later."

After the call ended, and Riley had once again stowed her cell phone safely on the inside of her bag, she shoved herself away from the cinderblock wall at her back, a wince passing over her features as the act caused her shirt to snag momentarily against the surface before pulling away as she moved. Instinctively, she twisted a hand back to feel at the fabric, a furrow lining her brow until she discerned that the shirt had not, in fact, been torn or snagged in any tangible way. Although she kept moving forward, Riley's mind remained rather firmly rooted upon the conversation she had just shared with her god-father, her arms folding across her chest once again as she rounded the corner that lead to the main road that cut through town, and made a right without fully realizing where she was headed.

Try though she might to avoid it, she could not help but continue to stray back to the memory of how fervently Archer had assured her he would come to Charming himself, if she needed him, only the knowledge of the inevitable conflict that such a journey would provoke staying her hand when all that she wanted to do was pick up the phone and tell him she had changed her mind…

…

A few hours later found Riley perusing the shelves in the local liquor store, her lips pursed in silent thought as she contemplated what to buy. It was childish. Stupid even, particularly as she had no real idea of whether her father would even care, much less be home in enough time to see exactly what their argument had pushed her to. But in spite of that knowledge, she could not resist the seemingly irrefutable desire to get herself absolutely off the walls-drunk as a means of both purging her own mind of its unruly thoughts, and getting back at the man that had provoked them, in the first place, a lined smile crossing her features for a moment before she plucked a bottle of rum from the top shelf and turned on a heel to go back to the cooler for a twelve pack of Coca-Cola to compensate for the potential implication of both the vodka and tequila she had already stowed in the basket on her arm.

Somehow, the weight of the metal handle digging into the skin of her forearm was only reassuring, not disheartening…

With such a thought in mind, Riley slid past an elderly woman that was taking up a good majority of the wine aisle that rested just before the coolers, ignoring the affronted look that the woman gave when her bag bumped against her back in the tight space in favor of moving towards her intended destination. Truthfully, she had perhaps gone a bit too far in her desire to throw caution to the wind, and act the part of the temperamental child, particularly as it pertained to taking the frustration that prompted such a desire out on presumably innocent old ladies. But regardless of her momentary guilt over her actions, she could not entirely find herself willing to go back and apologize, stubborn pride pushing her forward until she reached the end of the aisle, only to find herself plowing head-first into a man moving toward the same cooler from the aisle just to her left.

"Jesus—sorry, darlin'—"

"No, it was my—it was my—" Riley stammered, all hope of coherent thought rather quickly falling to the wayside as she realized exactly who it was she was addressing. Deceptively clear blue eyes seemed to almost sparkle at her as a result of what was very clearly open amusement at her sudden speechlessness. And although she knew she ought to reply sooner rather than later, if for no other reason than to save face and prove that she was not the bumbling idiot the man was likely already painting her to be in his mind, Riley found that she could do nothing but stand in place, for the present, her mouth opening for a moment as though she was about to speak, only to slam shut once more as her newfound companion took the liberty of doing so for her.

"You havin' a house party or something?" The man—Jax Teller—inquired, one blond brow cocked in obvious curiosity as he glanced down at the contents of the basket attached to Riley's arm, before allowing his gaze to drift back towards her face while she shook her head, and managed to clear her throat in order to reply.

"Um—no. No, it's just—well, it's mine."

"Hey, I've got nothing against a girl who can hold her liquor."

"Actually, my intent is the opposite."

"Really. You make a habit out of getting drunk alone?"

"It's more of a recent development," Riley quipped, eternally grateful for the fact that she appeared to have regained the ability to speak, though she was still not entirely capable of keeping the flush from her cheeks in response to the way Jax's eyes seemed to give her entire body a once over before returning to her face.

"I have to admit, I'd have never pegged you for the type."

"The type to what?"

"Day drink."

"Well I like to think of myself as full of surprises."

"Is that so?" Jax inquires, the half-smirk that toys with one side of his mouth suggesting that he may have taken the remark as a challenge, despite Riley's honest desire not to turn it into one, "Never pegged you as the type for that, either."

"So you're saying I'm predictable—"

"If the glass slipper fits."

"And now he's comparing me to Cinderella. That's—new," Riley teased, turning from Jax in hopes of giving herself a moment to regain some modicum of composure, and finding herself surprised that he only seemed to spare a moment grabbing a twelve-pack of soda for himself before following after her as she made her way to the front of the store to pay for her selections, "And following me like a puppy dog, apparently."

"Trust me, darlin', I'm nowhere near a puppy."

"Someone's cocky."

"You have no idea," Jax retorted, self-assurance apparent in his tone even though Riley did not bother turning from the task of setting her basket on the countertop to see that it was also reflected upon his face. For a moment, he simply observed while Riley went about removing the vodka, rum, and tequila from the basket, and placed them on the counter so that she could dig through her bag for her wallet. But before she could fully extract the object from the ridiculously full purse, he had stepped forward to place a hand atop her own, very much aware of how she seemed to freeze at the contact while he gave the cashier a nod of acknowledgement before speaking once again.

"Put her stuff in with mine, Charlie. My treat," He stated, aware of how Riley's head had snapped over to look at him in obvious shock, and sending her a small wink that had her flushing once again in response, "Might not want to tell your boyfriend I'm the one buying you booze, though."

"My boyfriend?"

"Yeah. You were riding in his car the other day—"

"Oh, that's not my boyfriend," Riley began, smiling sweetly at the cashier, and thanking her lucky stars that Jax's incorrect supposition had given her the wherewithal to move her hand out from under his and accept the bag the cashier handed her, while simultaneously allowing her the means of catching him off guard every bit as effectively as he had just done to her before she turned to exit the store.

"That was my dad."

Nothing like yanking the proverbial rug out from beneath a guy's feet to keep him on his toes…

…..


	7. Ulterior Motive

"Oh, that's not my boyfriend…that was my dad."

The words echoed over and over in Jax's head what seemed like a thousand times before they made any sense, the soft jingling of the liquor store's door shutting as the girl made her way outside finally jerking him into action, and forcing him to yank the twelve pack off of the counter before following after her, himself. It took next to no time at all for him to catch up, of course, the disadvantage presented by her heeled sandals coupled with the weight of the liquor bottles in her bag causing him to smirk just a bit before he took the liberty of grabbing her arm with his free hand to turn her back towards him.

The fact that she was Hale's daughter could be an asset to the club. And of course, the fact that she was hot as hell would be an extra added bonus…

"Need some help with that, darlin'?" Jax inquired, aware of how the girl seemed to jump just a bit at the contact before she was pulling away, her teeth chewing at her lower lip for a moment before she replied.

"I can manage."

"You sure about that? That bag looks like it could snap your arm in two."

"Yeah, well it won't. Trust me," The girl pressed, turning so that she could continue her trek back towards the sidewalk, and consequently forcing Jax to do the same, half-jogging so that he could catch up.

Damn, she was fast, even in heels, once she got her bearings…

"Seems to me you won't make it very far in those shoes, though," Jax persisted, suppressing a chuckle as the girl gave a scoff of obvious frustration over the fact that she was obviously not going to get away from him that easily, "Surprised you haven't twisted your ankle yet."

"You're a regular comedian, aren't you?"

"I try, darlin'."

"Consider this a failed attempt, then."

"Ouch. Retract the claws, kitten—"

"Only if you never call me 'kitten' again," The girl retorted, somehow managing to keep her eyes dead ahead despite the fact that Jax's arm was deliberately brushing against her own while they walked to throw her off her game while he replied.

"What would you like me to call you, then?"

"Absolutely nothing. We done here?"

"Only if you let me give you a ride home," Jax said, once again reaching for the girl's arm, and finding that this time, he was successful in bringing her to a stop so that she could turn to face him head-on. Almost immediately, he became aware of the spark of aggravation in her green eyes, coupled with the way in which her body seemed to instinctively shrink away from him, in spite of how she was clearly making every effort to appear as though she was determined to hold her ground. It was almost as though she didn't trust herself when in close proximity to his own taller frame, though by the almost defiant expression that had taken over her features, it was apparent she sought to avoid his coming to that conclusion—

Little did she know it would not be the first time he had that effect on a woman.

"I don't even know you."

"We can change that, darlin'—"

"I think I'm good, thanks," She insisted, turning away from him after extracting her arm from his grasp, and continuing to head down the sidewalk, only to find herself emitting an exasperated huff when she realized he was still keeping up, "You don't give up, do you?"

"Call it chivalry."

"Something tells me that's not what this is."

"What do you think this is?"

"You being a pain in the ass?"

"Never," Jax assured, self-confident smile once again crossing over his features as he sped up just enough to step in front of the girl, effectively halting her in her tracks, "C'mon, just let me take you home. Then I promise you'll never have to see me again."

"Somehow I don't think you'll hold to that promise—"

"Just tell me what I have to do to get you in the damn truck."

For a moment, Jax thought that the girl would still persist in refusing his offer, her expression unreadable as she looked up at him and chewed at her lip once again in response to his proximity. Despite her efforts to prevent it, she seemed entirely incapable of resisting the wince that stole across her features as she adjusted the bag on her arm to avoid it cutting a still-deeper groove against her skin—

"Fine. You can take me home. But this does not count as a victory for you. Got it?"

"If it ain't a victory, what is it?"

"A practicality," The girl supplied, one corner of her mouth turning up in a tentative smile as she lifted a brow, and adjusted the bag on her arm once again, "So where's this truck of yours? We keep stalling, I might decide I'll get home quicker on my own."

"Right this way, darlin'," Jax replied, chuckling a bit at the rather self-satisfied expression that had taken over the girl's face as he stepped away from her so that he could guide her over to where he had parked the truck, her heels clicking against the pavement behind him as she moved, "You got a name?"

"Why? Gonna deny me a ride after all if I don't tell you who I am?"

"Nah. Just like to know a girl's first name. Unless you want me to start calling you 'Hale'—"

"Hell no."

"Then spill, sweetheart."

"Riley," The girl replied, rolling her eyes as Jax stepped in front of her to open the passenger side door of the truck, his torso brushing against her as he did so, "Satisfied?"

"Give me your bag and get in the truck, and I will be."

Though it was apparent that she did so reluctantly, Riley allowed Jax to take the bag so that he could stow it alongside the twelve pack he had purchased for himself, a soft huff escaping her as she began to climb into the passenger seat, only to find herself losing her footing as her heel caught itself on the running board. Within seconds, she started slipping backwards, a yelp of surprise escaping before she could stop it as gravity pulled her backwards, until the pressure of a steady pair of hands registered against her hips while her back came to rest flush against Jax's chest.

"Wow. Falling for me already?"

"Shut up."

"Hey, I'm just stating the facts," Jax quipped, keeping his hold on Riley's waist for a bit longer than was truly necessary, and smirking at how she seemed to waver between staying where she was, and pulling away, as a result, "Can't blame a guy for doing that."

"Can I get in the truck, now?" Riley inquired, her voice trembling just a bit in spite of her desire to avoid it as a direct result of the sensation of a pair of warm hands resting upon her hips.

"Never said you couldn't—"

"Well I really can't move if you don't let go."

"How about you let me help you. I'd hate to have to explain to your dad why you slipped and broke your neck."

"I'm not going to slip and break my—"

"Seems to me you already tried, once," Jax interrupted, aware of the frustrated grunt that his remark earned him, and choosing to give Riley's waist a squeeze, regardless, "Why risk it a second time?"

God but it was far more amusing than it should be to get her riled up…

The way in which Riley had allowed her body to slump just a bit, as though resigned to accept the worst was the only indication Jax had of her agreement to allow him to help, suppressed laughter reverberating through his frame in spite of his admittedly half-hearted attempt to prevent it. If the way that Riley had stiffened for a moment in response were any indication, it was highly likely that she was aware of exactly how little effort he had put in to restraining his amusement—that she knew full well that he was enjoying her situation, even if she was not. But regardless of her own personal frustration, she truly was in no position to argue, the slight huff she gave as his hands tightened on her waist to help hoist her into the truck prompting another grin before Jax was shutting the passenger side door behind her, and heading to the driver's side door with keys in hand.

This day just kept getting better and better.

…

Riley sat in the passenger seat of Jax Teller's truck with her arms folded tightly across her chest, her teeth never once ceasing the act of chewing at her lower lip as they drove through town, even though she could taste the metallic tang of blood from the act on her tongue. The silence between herself, and the man that appeared to have given her father so much trouble was not entirely comfortable, though she was not about to play into her companion's apparent desire for her to be the one to break it first. But even in spite of how she could not seem to resist the urge to keep shooting glances at Jax as he, in turn, persisted in keeping his own gaze rooted upon the road, Riley could not help but admit that she was at slightly grateful that she did not have to lug her purchases back home on foot—

She could still feel the groove in the skin of her arm from the bag's handle, and she would have been a liar to pretend that she would likely have dropped every single bottle on the cement of the sidewalk had Jax not shown up when he did.

Not that she would ever tell him that…

Suppressing a snort of amusement at the thought, Riley shifted just a bit in the passenger seat, a shiver passing through her frame as a gust of air wafted in from the half-opened windows. Some small part of her was half-tempted to lean forward and roll the thing up herself, despite how she all but knew that to do such a thing would likely earn her more in the way of teasing from Jax, himself. But foolhardiness, or simple pride seemed unwilling to allow her to do such a thing, her lips pursing for a moment as she realized gooseflesh had begun to break out upon her skin.

Great.

"You cold, darlin'?" Jax inquired, the ease with which he seemed to sense Riley's discomfort prompting a resigned groan before she could stop it, and consequently forcing her to attempt masking the sound with a faint cough before she shook her head in defiance of his obvious certainty.

"No."

"Could've fooled me—"

"I'm fine," Riley pressed, readjusting her position in the seat for what felt like the hundredth time, and wincing as the seatbelt cut into her clavicle.

"You don't look it."

"Why don't you focus on the road, alright? I don't really want to end the day tied around a lamp pole."

"And now you sound like my mother," Jax teased, allowing a laugh to break free in response to the rather exaggerated roll of the eyes that his remark earned him from the girl huddling in on herself in the passenger seat of his truck, "You should probably leave the telling me how to drive bit to her, sweetheart."

"What are you gonna do if I don't?"

"Leave your ass on the side of the road next time, for starters."

"Technically, I wasn't going to be on the side of the road," Riley argued, glancing towards Jax, only to find that the act brought her face to face with a grin that caused her heart to stutter, and her cheeks to flush before she forced herself to avert her gaze to where her hands had come to rest in her lap, "I was—on the sidewalk."

"Fine. I'll leave your ass on the sidewalk."

"How very kind of you."

"Ain't it, though?"

"You're enjoying yourself, aren't you?"

"I'd be a fool not to be," Jax admitted, sending Riley a wink as she risked another glance his way, and suppressing another laugh as the act only caused her to chew even more fervently at her lower lip, "Most days I'm stuck giving rides to guys I work with who look and smell like they haven't showered in years."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"That depends. Is it workin'?"

"I'm not going to answer that," Riley dead-panned, turning her attention to the road ahead, and straightening a bit as she realized they were far closer to her home than she realized, "It's just—just up here on the right."

"The two story, with the god-awful pink shutters?"

"No. The one next door."

Pulling over to the curb in response to the instruction, Jax put the truck in park before returning his attention to Riley, herself, one brow cocked as he discovered that she appeared to be completely riveted upon a stray thread in her jeans. For a moment, he was half-tempted to remark on that very fact, something about the prospect of hassling her even more than he already had intriguing to say the least. But in spite of that desire, Jax forced himself to resist, choosing instead to set about the task of grabbing the bag of liquor she had purchased from the back of the truck while she busied herself unbuckling her seatbelt and getting out of the truck, as well.

"You good to get this to the front door?" He asked, stepping back just a bit before Riley could reach for the bag, and quirking a brow again as she nodded a bit too eagerly for the reply to be entirely truthful. Something in her demeanor gave the impression that she was hiding something. That if he persisted in detaining her for just a bit longer, she would come clean. But before Jax could make any attempt at doing exactly that, he found himself momentarily surprised as Riley tugged the bag from his arms, securing it on her arm once again before she spoke.

"Thanks for the—for the ride."

"Any time, darlin'. Guess I'll see ya around?"

"For your sake, I hope not."

Hardly sparing enough time to register Jax's answering laugh, Riley forced herself to turn on a heel and head off in the direction of the driveway of the house she had indicated, her steps slow enough to account for her heels and the heavy weight of the bag in her arms, but not enough to warrant any curiosity on his part as he started the engine of his truck once again, and prepared to leave. The flash of headlights zinging across the siding of the house before disappearing as he turned the vehicle around and headed back down the road gave Riley pause, her head ducking down as she feigned checking the security of the bag upon her arm for long enough to ensure he was really gone. Just as soon as she was satisfied that the truck was not about to head back towards her, Riley turned on a heel and headed back the same way she had come, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she moved towards the next block over and congratulated herself over her last minute decision, despite how childish that act might have seemed.

Somehow, the fact that she had given Jax Teller the wrong address almost succeeded in making up for exactly how easy it had been for him to get underneath her skin…

Almost.

…

"Where the hell have you been? I've been trying to call you—"

"Ease up, Mom, I was only gone an hour," Jax retorted, tossing his keys on the countertop, and placing the twelve pack of soda beside them so that he could stoop to press a brief kiss against his mother's temple, "You keep worrying so much, you'll go grey faster than your fancy ass hair dye can cover it up."

"Asshole."

"You know you love me."

"That's debatable," Gemma Teller-Morrow replied, removing her reading glasses, and tossing the old newspaper she had been perusing on the kitchen table so that she could watch her son a bit more carefully, "You run into trouble at the store?"

"Jesus, Mom—"

"Did you?"

"No. I gave someone a ride. That's all."

"This 'someone' have a name?"

"Jesus Christ, Gemma, let a man breathe," The words came from the man who had just entered the kitchen, one hand running through close-cropped white hair while he moved towards the refrigerator to extract a bottle of beer, "You're like the damned inquisition."

"I'm just trying to look out for my son."

"I think Jax can take care of himself, Gem."

"That remains to be seen."

"And this is why I'm only stopping by to drop of the soda," Jax quipped, sharing a laugh and a roll of the eyes with Clay, before walking back towards where Gemma now stood, arms folded across her chest, so that he could give her a one-armed embrace, before pulling back and heading towards the door, "See you guys tomorrow."

"So who is she?"

"What?"

"Who is she?" Gemma repeated, following after her son until she reached his side, her expression giving no quarter as she reached out to grab Jax's arm, and turn him back to face her.

"How the hell do you know it's a girl?"

"Because I know my son. And this is what he does when he's drooling over some new hottie."

"What is this, Mom?"

"You, acting sketchy as hell."

"Wow. She has a way with words, too," Jax stated, chuckling a bit as he watched his mother give a rather predictable scoff of aggravation, and shaking his head a bit before turning back to head towards the front door, "Everything's fine, Mom. Trust me."

"You said that about Wendy and Tara, too, and look what happened."

"This isn't like what happened with Wendy and Tara."

"So there is a 'this'—" Gemma said, satisfaction stealing across her features as she once again moved to follow after Jax, only to find herself stalled in the effort as he turned back to face her of his own free will, "Jax you know you can—"

"Look, Mom, something came up that might be good for the club, and I'm handling it. That's all you need to know."

"You sure about that, sweetheart?"

"Trust me. I am."

"Then you won't mind me telling you if this bitch twists you up like the other two did, I'll kick her ass myself."

"How could I, when I know you'd tell me even if I did?"

"Very funny, smart-ass."

"It's the truth and you know it," Jax pressed, turning back to reach for the door handle, and suppressing a laugh as he registered Gemma's answering huff that came about as a direct result of his obvious desire to evade her attempts at getting information on what it was he had been doing just prior to his arrival, "I've got to go, Mom."

"Alright, sweetheart," Gemma acknowledged, reaching out to place a hand on Jax's shoulder, and giving it a light squeeze before withdrawing, and leaning against the doorframe to watch him head towards his truck, "Just be careful, okay?"

"Always am."

Whether his mother would ever believe it or not, Jax knew what he was doing when it came to Riley Hale…

Once he had enough information on the would-be candidate for Unser's position, she would be just another metaphorical notch on the headboard. And if the way she had acted around him tonight were any indication, she wasn't even going to know what hit her.

…


End file.
